


Castle

by thehonestman (orphan_account)



Category: K-pop, NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Chronic Illness, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 05:11:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20558792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/thehonestman
Summary: Mark's mother had always told him to be strong for those who cannot.





	Castle

“I don’t have to be in there with you, you know.” A call with no response. “You can do this with some privacy.” 

“No,” Donghyuck says. Because he’s like this. So Mark sighs like he’s dreaming and wishes drearily that he was. But he thinks to all the times his mother had told him to _ be strong for those who cannot_, and he stops them from sitting in the car any longer.

“Come on,” he says, opening the passenger side door and getting out, because Donghyuck had insisted on driving even though he shouldn’t have. He follows Mark through the parking lot, watching the way his feet drag in that annoying way they always do, but supposes he’s doing the same thing, if not out of habit then out of dread. In the waiting room, Donghyuck checks in with his name, Mark’s hand on his back. He briefly registers the weight of it, and does not fight it. It’s late afternoon, and the waiting room is rather empty. The only other people in there are a little girl and her mother, who somehow don’t seem too bothered to be there. Donghyuck guesses he’s not necessarily too bothered, either, just tired. But that’s nothing new.

When the nurse comes out and calls his name, he stands up solidly, stolidly, but not moving or doing anything until he feels Mark stand up next to him. Mark places a hand again on his lower back, but he jerks away from the touch this time. Mark bites his nails instead and his hand bleeds. They follow the nurse back through the building to a consultation room, where they are left alone momentarily. They sit in silence, looking anywhere but at each other, waiting for the doctor to come in.

When he enters, Mark and Donghyuck let him go through his usual formalities before bringing It up. When they start to talk seriously, Donghyuck’s mind goes vacant: hands tucked under his thighs, he sits and stares at the floor. The doctor talks in his general direction for a long time before giving up and turning his head to Mark. Mark participates actively in the conversation, nodding and responding when appropriate because he should, and he’s so pissed Donghyuck won’t cooperate but this is not the time or place to grab him and hit him and get into that conversation. He hates him. He’s sick of him. He cares for him, and everyday, especially right now, he can never forget about him, and he shifts his eyes every few seconds over to him to make sure he is okay. Donghyuck doesn’t move at all, just keeps looking down, breathing steadily, goosebumps forming over his hairless thighs as he listens intently to the doctor’s diatribe that is slowly becoming background noise to the storm going on in his head. The echo of the room reminds him of the way rubber bands snap on skin, the way the tension between them has to break sometime soon. The way neither of them will do anything about it.

After talking for a while, the doctor stands up from his seat, and the two take their cue to do the same.

“Thank you, doctor,” Mark says, shaking his hand.

“Thank you.” Donghyuck shakes his hand as well, briefly looking him in the eyes. They follow him out of the room, turning off and heading back outside.

In the parking lot, Donghyuck walks slightly in front of Mark, who stops him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. Donghyuck does not turn around to face him, does not react as Mark pulls the keys right out of his back pocket and then they keep walking.

In the car, the radio rumbles lowly in the background while Donghyuck looks straight ahead, waiting. Mark drops a hand onto his thigh.

“Are you okay?” 

“It’s back,” Donghyuck says immediately, devoid of emotion and of energy. Mark inhales deeply, shifts his eyes, shifts his whole body uncomfortably. _ You already knew that, _Mark wants to say. _ You knew that when your torso swelled up last week, you knew that when you collapsed a month ago. _

“It’s not as bad as last time,” he settles on.

“It’s still back.” _ You knew that when you woke up and cried this morning_.

“Yeah. It’s still back.” Mark withdraws his hand, and they are silent for the rest of the ride.

* * *

At home again, Donghyuck lets himself collapse onto the living room couch. Suddenly, and unexpectedly, he finds himself feeling much better just being at home. He watches as Mark lingers around for a bit, testing, feeling, then heads into the kitchen to start cooking dinner.

Pulling out ingredients and utensils alike, Mark’s mind is only on Donghyuck. Donghyuck, who won’t talk about it. Donghyuck, who won’t say how he’s feeling. Donghyuck, who will not get away with it this time. But if there is one thing Mark knows for sure, it’s that Donghyuck does not take kindly to being caught off guard and his guard is lower than ever right now. He knows himself, too, though, and knows he’s too much of a coward to actually do anything to push him over the edge, because this is the game they play, and this is the game they have played since Donghyuck got sick. Mark stops moving for a moment, and takes a heavy breath in, not excited to arrive at the painful destination that this conversation is sure to take them. He eases in.

“I’m going to call your parents,” he says, still turned away from Donghyuck, now resuming his ministrations and working swiftly with his hands. Donghyuck scoffs. Mark feels a gentle tug of regret, then a brutal yank of anger on his heart. He hates him. He can’t forget about him.

“I should be the one doing that.”

“Yeah, but you won’t.” Donghyuck figures he’s right. What Donghyuck didn’t figure, however, was Mark taking out his phone right then and there and calling his parents right in front of him. He starts, wide-eyed, dizzy on the upset, grabbing blindly at credenzas and doorknobs to support his race to their bedroom, just as he hears Mark greet his parents.

“I’m just gonna . . .” He trails off. He’s just gonna nothing. He sits on the bed, headphones in and kills time on his phone so he does not have to hear or think about the conversation going on in the other room or anything else, for that matter. It’s easier that way. After fifteen minutes, he huffs, gets up, and goes back in.

Mark is still on the phone, and the sound of his voice is almost drowned out by the sound of a pan sizzling. Almost. Donghyuck sits down at the kitchen table and coughs to make sure he knows he’s there. He knows. They’re playing this game again, but no one will win.

“Eight o’clock tomorrow morning,” he’s saying. Some time passes. “I don’t know, I don’t really remember all the details. I just know it’s different this time because it’s at his liver.” Suddenly, he turns around and looks directly at Donghyuck: looks him in the face, like he means it, like he wants him to feel the depth of his efforts, the heaviness of his negligence, the greatness of their mutual fall. And when Donghyuck hears him tell his parents that “yeah, he’s here but he’s asleep right now,” he feels it. He cringes and feels very afraid of Mark, but keeps his stare with a kind of angry, tortured confusion that Mark reads accurately, in that it holds true for more than just this one situation. Because that’s never what it is. The game is played in rounds, not one single race. Mark pauses briefly to let Donghyuck know he gets it, then remembers himself. “Okay, we’ll talk to you guys soon. Bye,” he finishes as he carries two plates over to the kitchen table, placing one in front of each of them. His gaze has cooled, at least momentarily.

“Thank you,” Donghyuck says. Face buried in his right hand, he reaches out his left hand to Mark. He ignores it.

“They’re worried about you.” 

“I’m worried, too.”

“You’re worried for different reasons.” Donghyuck doesn’t say anything, just tilts his head back. “We really need to talk about this. Did you hear what the doctor said? It’s not as bad this time, the surgery is quicker and lower risk.”

“I know, I know,” he says. “Still scared.”

“You’re not doing this alone, though. I’m here the whole time.” It sounds pained, which it is, but they’re both so kind as to not point it out. The game continues, both are losing points.

“Yeah, well you’re not the one getting cut open tomorrow, are you?” Heat rises in the room.

“No, but I’m the one who has to watch you go through it. Hurts just as much. And it’s worse when you pretend you don’t care.”

“I _ do _ care.”

“Then _ fucking _ act like it,” he nearly screams, and wonders how they got to this point.

Donghyuck begins to think about why he cares, and what he cares about. He thinks about being sick. He thinks about all the times his parents yelled at him to get out of the house or move around or just _ do something _ without wondering why he couldn’t. He thinks about all the times he’s been late to work because he fainted on his way out the house. He thinks about all the times Mark’s had to carry him somewhere because his legs can’t carry him anymore. 

Yeah, Donghyuck thinks long and hard about his relationship that’s been slowly chipped away at for as long as this sickness has existed. He thinks about what this surgery means for the future, and realizes that it just means more weight loss, more weakness, more dependence on Mark, on other people in general. He begins to think that this is not what he wants anymore. He pushes his hair away from his face and dully realizes he wishes he was dead.

And as suddenly as his thoughts had begun to run out of control, he bursts into tears. Mark watches and his face softens as he remembers where he is and who he’s with, and stands up to comfort Donghyuck. He picks him up off the chair and thinks about how easy it would be to just throw him to the hardwood floor and watch him writhe in pain as his bones crush together and his lungs collapse and watch him wither away there and how much easier things would be if this all just ended like that. But it won’t. Because he remembers that he needs to _ be strong for those who cannot _ and Donghyuck clearly cannot. He sits down with him on the living room couch, and when he does, he begins to cry as well. They sit there, clock ticking as they hold each other and cry -- an earnest, heavy cry. When the sobs start to slow, Mark picks Donghyuck up yet again and carries him into their bedroom. They sit on the bed, and Donghyuck picks his head up and reaches a weak arm out and touches Mark’s tears, but does not wipe them from his face.

In the complete darkness, they make love in their bed, both crying the entire way through. Donghyuck can’t do much; he’s weak and apologetic, says he’s sorry he can’t be better for him, and that he doesn’t think he can make him feel anything, but Mark wants none of that. He takes the lead as he hushes him, holds him, and has him. It’s sloppy and untactful and it’s just crying onto each other’s bodies while they touch gently and move so, so slowly, but it’s meaningful. It’s something. After they’ve finished, Mark sets an alarm on his phone.

“I’ll wake you up in the morning,” he says. But Donghyuck is already fast asleep, tears drying steadily on his face. 

* * *

In the morning they move slowly together. Mark drives, and Donghyuck feels a bit okay. Mark’s hand is not on his thigh, and he ignores the radio and watches the low light of the city pass them by. When they get to the hospital, they are led through a maze of hallways before reaching an empty room with a hospital bed and some chairs. They take their familiar and disconcertingly comfortable places, and share light conversation while playing on their phones to pass the time.

A nurse eventually comes in and hands Donghyuck a hospital gown to change into as if he doesn’t already know the drill, then points him in the direction of the bathroom across the hall before leaving. Not bothering with the bathroom, he lets himself be in the moment with Mark, standing still until Mark’s eyes meet his so he knows they’re truly here together, and when Mark puts his phone down he knows they are.

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.” 

Donghyuck breathes shallowly, nervously as he strips down entirely, thinking about how long it’s been since he’s let Mark see him like this. But in the light he is unapologetic, because in the light Mark can see him. Donghyuck’s body is cold and bare and his knees knock together where he stands. He pauses for a moment, entirely naked and covered in goosebumps. Mark watches him the entire time, but does not dare reach out, touch, or speak. He just watches the swell of his chest rise and fall, lets his eyes drag down: waist, hips, thighs, shins, ankles. _ Fragile, _is all Mark thinks. That, and _ he really, really cannot be strong._ He counts the bruises on the way down and wonders if maybe the game could be over. Donghyuck watches Mark watch him, and their eyes meet when Mark brings his eyes back up to Donghyuck’s face. When they do, Mark smiles at him because he wants him to feel safe. He smiles at him because he is beautiful.

In his hospital gown, Donghyuck sits back down onto the bed and waits yet again. In one fell swoop, three or four nurses come in and ask him if he’s ready to go in. He nods because he has to. As they start to cart him away on the bed, he looks around with panicked, hyper-alert eyes, desperately searching for something familiar to latch onto. His eyes meet Mark’s once more, and he nods at him before watching him disappear behind large double doors, into the anesthesia room.

* * *

Hours later, Donghyuck wakes up sweating profusely, overheating, groaning incessantly because he feels unable to yell. 

“You’re up.” He hears Mark’s voice to his right.

“I’m up.” Mark pulls his chair up to the side of the bed, and holds his weak hand gently. Donghyuck squeezes it. 

"Where’s the doctor?” Mark does not like the speed with which Donghyuck whips his head toward the hallway when saying this, so he squeezes his hand to get him to focus back on him. He does, and listens to him as he says that the doctor will be back shortly, and that he had said that everything went perfectly.

Donghyuck’s head lulls back as he slowly shuts his eyes and nods. He seems to mumble something then, but it’s too low for Mark to hear it.

“What was that?” 

“Now what?” he repeats, re-opening his eyes. Mark stares at him briefly before nodding lightly.

“Now you rest,” he says, though he knows that’s not what he meant. “You just rest.” 

Donghyuck’s eyes shut once more, and Mark feels coldness wash over him.


End file.
